Page 96 of Heartbreaker
Without warning, Brooks excuses himself, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts. I watch him disappear the way we came less than thirty minutes ago. His hands shoved deep in the pockets of his slacks give off a calm and collected strut, but his shoulders tell a different story. They carry the weight of our entire conversation. I know I should worry if he’ll come back, but I don’t, because I know he will. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Is he right?
Was it my fear of the future that made me run so fast? John and I had been talking about marriage for a long time before everything happened. Hell, we’d even joked about going to the courthouse at Thanksgiving…Or was it feeling like I wasn’t in control of my own life after my conversation with Debra? That I was trapped and he was controlling me. When in reality, John was the furthest thing from controlling. He’d always been protective—of me, his sister, his mother—sometimes to a fault, and he liked to make sure everyone had what they wanted, not just what they needed, but he’d been truly never controlling.
Was it nerves? Fear of the unknown? Every time I think back to that week when things finally went south—first with the storyline fiasco and then finding out about the bet, on top of the Thanksgiving drama—I think maybe I did overreact. But I suppose my pride hasn’t allowed me to admit that to anyone else.
I’ve been too hurt, too prideful, to want to admit it, and even if I had, the damage was already done…I’d done the one thing he asked. I had to, or I never would’ve walked out the door. I did what I had to because I needed space. I needed time. And I said things that I didn’t mean…Like that I didn’t love him.
Maybe it was true.
Maybe I had subconsciously sabotaged everything I’d ever wanted with the man who loved me almost unconditionally because of a brief moment of anxiety and fear, without even truly realizing it.
Brooks reemerges almost ten minutes later, hands still shoved deep in his pockets as he moves through the restaurant with more grace than you’d expect from someone his size. He pulls out his chair and resituates himself at the table, taking a long sip of the whiskey the waitress had dropped off not long after he left. He lets the glass fall back to the table, his gaze lifting to meet mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say before he can. “For everything.”
“I know that.” His voice remains even—monotone almost.
“I don’t want to make this harder than it has to be. I don’t. Brooks, I care about you. I always will.”
“And I…” Brooks pauses, swiping his tongue over his lips before he expels a soft breath. “…Care about you.”
That’s not what he was going to say, and I can almost guarantee I know what he was going to say, but I won’t push him. Not tonight. I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine, giving it a small squeeze. “Friends?”
Brooks hesitates, but nods. “Friends.”
“And friends can enjoy a nice dinner together and catch up, right?” The corners of my mouth lift in an encouraging smile. I watch him try to fight it, but he can’t, and finally, his mouth lifts in return.
Strong hands guide me out of the restaurant and toward the street, where we can hail a cab. In another lifetime, we’d walk the city streets wrapped in each other before he’d pull me in for a kiss and call a cab to take us back to our hotel, where we could properly end the night. Instead, his chest is pressed firmly against my back as he reaches around to open the yellow door. He steps off the curb, gripping the top edge of the doorframe while the other rests on my hip. He gives it an affectionate squeeze when I turn around to face him.
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say.
“Thanks for letting me win.”
A warmth blooms in my cheeks, and I bite back a smile.
“Good night, Savannah,” Brooks says. He urges me toward the open taxi cab, but my feet remain planted, and it only brings us closer. So close that I can smell the pungent aroma of the one whiskey he had at dinner on his breath.
What am I doing? This goes well beyond the bounds of friendship we set not even three hours ago. This comes dangerously close to crossing the line we were supposed to be staying away from, but I can’t seem to step back.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes out, and his face is dangerously close to mine.
“John.”
Our lips barely brush, and I feel his body turn to stone. Eyes closed, he white-knuckles the doorframe. When he speaks, his voice drips with an aching need so heavy, I feel it in my bones. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”
“No, I won’t.”
A soft exhale tickles my skin as he breathes. “You will.”
I can feel the corner of his mouth lift before I step forward, closing the gap. His hand tangles in my hair, and the other digs into the fabric at my waist, pulling me even further into him. This kiss is desperate and punishing—it’s all teeth and tongue. It’s everything we’ve been needing. Everything we’ve wanted since I walked out on that stage. Since I walked out that door two years ago. Being this close to him feels right—feels whole. It feels like home. And I never want to leave again. This is where I belong.
Parting from me, Brooks rests his forehead against mine. His hands lift to cradle my cheeks, and he presses a single kiss against my lips. When I try to pull him into the cab, he resists.
“Not like this, Sweetheart.” He shakes his head with a sad smile. “You have no fucking clue how badly I want to get in that car right now.” A breathy chuckle follows that statement, and for a moment, I see the man I met in that college dive bar almost eleven years ago. The man I never thought I’d see again after that night, but who had captured my heart well before he even knew it, and has never given it back. “But youwillregret this in the morning.” His thumb skates over my lips, eyes searching my face before he speaks again. “I want this, Savannah. I want you. But I don’t want you to want this because you’re caught up in some kind of nostalgia. I want you to want it because you want me. Want us. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and regret this—regret me. Because I can’t live in a world where you regret me.”
Warmth builds in my eyes. The confession sobers me up from the high I was riding moments ago.
